


Little Chili Pepper

by sailtheplains



Category: Original Work
Genre: Short Story, Shorts, chili pepper, prompt, salesman
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-01
Updated: 2014-06-01
Packaged: 2018-01-27 20:55:45
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,009
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1722245
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sailtheplains/pseuds/sailtheplains
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He came, selling peppers of every variety. Bell, Jalapeno, Tabasco, Lemon Drop, Bolivian Rainbow, Cayenne, Tepin, Red Amazon, Datil, white, red and orange Habeneros, Trinidad Scorpions, and the Ghost pepper.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Little Chili Pepper

The garage sale was full of things that Bryndis expected. Cracked plates, old coffee maker, a lime green fridge. There were tattered copies of old Stephen King novels, girl's skirts and shorts, boy's striped shirts. 

The day was sunny as could be and hot. Bryndis wasn't really looking for anything in particular. Killing time before she went to work, Bryndis idled down and stopped her car. The lawn of the house was dry and dead, it crunched under her shoes. She saw stained jam jars, coffee mugs, a Victorian tea set and bundles of lace. A tiny old lady with hair like silver wheat was up by a table. She wore a giant yellow floppy hat, a sweater and matching pants and snowy white shoes with Velcro closures.

And then separately, all by itself, there was a leather-bound green book. Bryndis approached it. Her fingers skimmed over it, feeling the texture. It seemed only natural to pick it up. There was no price tag, just a white sticker that claimed: _One Entry_

She looked for the proprieter but the tiny old lady was gone. Bryndis opened the book. It was a journal, apaprently. Stamped on the inside: _Property of Jeremiah Kohl, 1918_

She turned the page--surely that old lady wouldn't be selling a used journal? Maybe she'd put it out here by accident. But as it turned out, she was wrong. She flipped some pages of creamy white paper and then skimmed several others--there was nothing. Nothing at all. Nothing except Jeremiah Kohl. Bryndis turned around--she walked to the old lady--who had reappeared. "Ma'am, I'm sorry to bother you. But...this journal."

The old woman looked at her under her giant, floppy hat. "Ah, yes. You want to know who Jeremiah Kohl is."

Bryndis nodded.

"Jeremiah Kohl was a chili pepper salesman. "

"What? Chili peppers?"

"Yes," the old woman smiled fondly. She patted the seat next to her. " I met him in 1938--just before the outbreak of World War Two. He was a Spaniard by descent, a Catholic by raising but a wanderer at heart. Beautiful dusky brown skin, black wavy hair and such a smile. He came, selling peppers of every variety. Bell, Jalapeno, Tabasco, Lemon Drop, Bolivian Rainbow, Cayenne, Tepin, Red Amazon, Datil, white, red and orange Habeneros, Trinidad Scorpions, and the Ghost pepper. Do you know how he got his first date with me?"

Bryndis sat down at a bench beside her. "No, but I bet it was painful." She grinned.

"Oh yes. We were chatting and he said that if he could eat one of his Ghost peppers--with no tears or no drinking--then would I have a coffee with him the next day. Of course, I did not think he could!" She laughed. "But he did. Ate it like you or I eat a strawberry. He was immune to spice--he _was_ spice. And with him, I danced and wore red shoes. My mother encouraged me at every corner---my father did not like him." The old woman's smile broadened. "but that's what a good father does, my dear. He looks out for his daughters. Wants a man to respect her no matter his religion, his culture, his money--the most important thing is respect. And he teaches his sons to do the same. Luckily, Jeremiah Kohl had a very good father. He brought my mother all the peppers she could want. The war intensified over in Europe. We did not join the war until '41, of course. He stayed close by until then."

"You sated his wanderlust, eh?" Bryndis said, her grin became saucy.

"Oh yes--but he was very Catholic--so its not as bad as you think."

"Was it worse?"

"Oh yes," the old lady said. Her blue eyes crinkled up as she laughed. "He told me he wanted to have beautiful Spanish-American children. With dusky skin, dark hair and blue eyes. And I wanted that too."

Bryndis' smile softened. "....did he go to the war?"

"Yes," the lady told her. "Yes, he did. Fought bravely. Probably annoyed everyone in his company about the peppers that he missed so much. I tried to send him some--but they never made it to his post." She looked back at Bryndis. Her eyes twinkled. "No one knows what happened to him."

"As in.....he...died?" Bryndis asked carefully.

"Oh, perhaps. Perhaps not," the old woman told her. She picked up a folder beside her and opened it up. "Every time I have a garage sale, I put that journal out with a price, One Entry."

Bryndis felt the cool leather, glancing down at it. "It's empty."

"No, it's here." She showed Bryndis the folder. Stacks of lined creamy paper. Each one was dated. "My price is one entry. But I find that most folks take the journal and write about what they believe happened to him and then they give it back to me with their page removed so I may try again."

Bryndis felt something clench in her--like witnessing snow for the first time. Her first skydive. Her first lover. Something heart-wrenching and beautiful at once. Her brother's wedding, her reflection in the mirror. Eyes red from crying, making the amber-brown stand out glassy and wet and glorious.

"May I read them with you?" she asked.

The old lady smiled. They read many tales of Jeremiah Kohl's adventures in Europe. Swashbuckling chili pepper salesman, who rescued damsels in distress, saved his comrades in deeds of daring, one even detailed how he took out Hitler himself. He saved children, old men, beautiful young women--but to every one of them that wanted him, he would say, "I am sorry. I am sworn to another and I will return to her, my little chili pepper."

Bryndis wiped her eyes a little. "You know, ma'am....I think I'll take this journal."

The old lady beamed. "I would like that. Do you have the price?"

Bryndis gave her a smile and took out a pen. "I've got an idea."


End file.
